


Not like her mother

by Sionna_Raven



Series: Background fics to 'Snacks and Letters' [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sionna_Raven/pseuds/Sionna_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night at Grimmauld Place; a lonely , drunken man older than his years; a silly girl and not enough fire-whiskey....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not like her mother

Grimmauld Place, March 1996

“Kreacher!” The rotten elf scuttles into the kitchen muttering his usual declarations of love and devotion. As if I care what he thinks of me.

“ How do you think I can keep a decent fire going with three sticks and a newspaper? Can't you even pretend to do a proper job?”

“Master's right, Kreacher will punish himself for not working as his master deserves it. Kreacher will do this immediately.”

I give an exasperated sigh. “You're doing nothing of the kind. Get out and bring firewood!You have 5 minutes! Maybe I allow to bang your head with a log afterwards.”

“Master orders, Kreacher obeys.” He scuttles out again as slowly as possible. I throw one of the sticks at his back. “Hurry up!”

I stare at the pathetic glimmer in the fireplace. I'm freezing. I'm always freezing since Azkaban. I need the warmth and light of the flames. Kreacher knows; he does it on purpose.

I reach for the bottle on the table to fill a glass. Glass, why bother? There's nobody here to appreciate table manners. A generous swig from the bottle, the illusion of warmth from inside. If I need more than three until the elf returns, he'll regret it.

I don't. Kreacher is obstinate, but not stupid.

“You may retreat to your lair. I don't want to see your ugly face anymore tonight.”

“Master's so kind to Kreacher.”

The fresh logs make the fire dance merrily, red and gold. I watch the flames, my only company.

There's not much left in the bottle, when the door bell shrieks. Mother joins in. I try to stand up. One leg of the table needs replacing. It wobbles.

Maybe it's Remus. He occasionally drops by late.

“Nymphadora, beautiful young ladies shouldn't be out alone at night.”

There's the hint of a frown at my use of her full Christian name, but then she smiles.

“I thought I visit my favourite cousin. May I come in?”

“Well, yes of course. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Sirius.” , flows from lips of darkest berry and sapphire eyes flash at me.

I'm not drunk enough not to notice that the girl is dressed to kill. Platinum blond bob, black stretch dress that shows more than it hides, silk stockings, high heels.

She walks to the kitchen and I follow. Do they really call that a skirt nowadays?

Dora makes herself comfortable in the armchair opposite mine. She does not cross her legs. How real can alcohol induced hallucinations get?

Berry-coloured talons fiddle with a handbag and get out a silver cigarette case. She offers one to me and takes one herself. I get a twig out of the fire and hold it to give her a light. She leans over.... and blows out the flame like blowing a kiss.

Goodness grace, what is that supposed to mean? Hufflepuff way to re-animate a corpse? If there was any doubt. No, I'm not dead, yet.

She's sharing the latest Ministry gossip and other meaningless chitchat while moving that fag between her fingers and lips in a way that keeps my mind off anything she's saying.

Give me a pint of sobering potion and let me take an ice-cold shower...

Snippets of her chatting penetrate my brain. Werewolf legislation, Order over-worked....

Thank you very much, that was the icy shower I needed.

“I may be drunk, but I'm not that stupid, Nymphadora.” She looks confused.

“Do you really think you can make Remus jealous with me of all people? I'm afraid that won't work, you abysmally silly girl. What was your cunning plan? That Remus finds us here, you looking like temptation incarnate, and that he finally gets moving? You plan has a flaw, because the only thing dear Moony will do, when he believes another bloke, his friend, is interested in his girl, is curl up on a rag in the cellar and howl to the moon and later probably be thankful that you let him sleep on your doorstep and don't kick him out.”

“How can you say such a horrible thing about your best friend? Remus is a brave and decent man and he can stand up for himself and....” Tonks is furious. Her hair has turned fiery red and steel-grey eyes glare daggers at me. Remus should thank all angels on bended knees the girl really loves him.

“I can say that, because I know him, perhaps better than anybody else. Remus is brave, but he will never fight for a girl. He is perfectly convinced that any girl is better off without him. If you take my advice, you kidnap him and lock him into a room until he admits that he loves you. He is a fool, if he doesn't.”

Tonks suddenly doesn't look like a vamp anymore, but like a little girl wearing her adult sister's clothes. “But what can I...?”

“You're a Hufflepuff, use your strengths, be persistent, kind and loyal, be patient and don't give up. But whatever you do, do not try to make him jealous!”

“Now go! A decent girl like you should not be found in the company of a rogue like me.”

She leaves, collides with the troll foot, the door falls shut with a bang and wakes mother. Home sweet home.

Lucky badger, had she been more like her mother and possessed the tiniest bit of Slytherin cunning, she had come wearing plain witches' robes and long black hair. I might not have had the strength to send her away. I drain the bottle and throw it against the wall.

I wake up around noon, between clean sheets and covers, wearing pyjamas. Remus must have been here last night.


End file.
